Metamorphosis
by Child of Loki
Summary: Nell Jones and G Callen face some challenges to their lives. But what will it take for a young woman with control issues and a stubborn loner to embrace the changes necessary to the survival of their happiness? (Third installment in the Antithesis-Synthesis-Metamorphosis series.) Nell/Callen. Now Rated 'M'
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**NCIS: LA **_**or its characters… but I can still make them do whatever I damned well please… in my own little universe… which I don't make any money off from so please don't sue me!**

**Author's Note: And here begins part three of this little saga… I figured, why make you wait when this first chapter is already written. I'm thinking that since the first fic in the series, **_**Antithesis**_**, was Callen-centric POV, and the second fic, **_**Synthesis**_**, was Nell-Centric POV, this one will be a mix of both.**

**As per usual, this is starting off in the realm of a 'T' rating, but has the potential to go very 'M' at some point, depending on where my (oft smutty) imagination takes me. *Warning for slight bad language in my author's notes.*  
**

* * *

"Nell is going to kill me, isn't she?" G Callen said as he dropped back down behind cover alongside his partner.

"You really need me to answer that?" Sam Hanna asked, breathing a little harder than normal. Having a conversation above the sound of gunfire and in between squeezing off his own shots tended to have that affect on the agent. On both of them, for that matter. Yet, at this particular moment, the bad guys currently shooting at them weren't Callen's primary concern.

"Maybe it would be better if one of these bastards does shoot me." Taking a breath, he anticipated the lull in enemy fire, turned, peeked over the cement barricade, aimed and loosed several bullets at one of the serial kidnapper's head. The man had wisely ducked behind the overturned Chevy Malibu in time. Damn it.

"A quick death?" Sam chuckled, before taking his turn to return fire, And then crouching back down, muttered under his breath, "Damn, they're slippery bastards."

The big ex-seal looked at Callen. "I think I have to agree with you , G. I've been married long enough to know the wrath of a woman who claims to love her husband when he messes up."

"We're not married," Callen said. His friend gave him a look that said it was a superficiality and had no affect on the point he was making. "Hold that thought."

Callen took another try at the same bad guy as before, but to no avail. From his brief stint playing a jack-in-the-box, however, he'd been able to spot the three armed men. They'd begun to think, which didn't bode well for the outnumbered federal agents.

"They're trying to outflank us," Callen said. Sam nodded, but continued with their non-situation-relevant conversation.

"Nell may seem like a sweet girl, but I don't doubt she's gonna make you pay for the rest of your life. And rightly so."

"Thanks for the support, buddy. I thought you were supposed to have my back."

"What do you call this?" Sam asked, rising to fire several more rounds. There was a loud scream, indicating one of the bullets had definitely hit on target. His partner gave Callen a smug smile when he took cover once more.

"Why save me now, if Nell's going to murder me anyway?"

It was something drilled into you in every firearms training lesson, to stay calm and steady, but Callen admittedly pulled the trigger of his SIG with more than a little aggression. He clipped the man trying to work his way around the median to get a clean shot at the agents by sprinting from behind one abandoned vehicle to the next. From stumbling upon a kidnap ring, to car chase, to car accident, to stand-off in the middle of the I-5, this day just seemed to get better and better. He could hear the sirens in the distance, but they were still some way off, and who knew how the situation would change before or when they got here. And either way, he wasn't where he was supposed to be, and if he got there too late... Nell was _so _going to kill him.

"Well, two reasons. One, my life's busy at the moment," Sam said. "And I rather not have to break in a new partner." He glanced over his shoulder, surveying the battlefield. "What do you think? Head for the Tahoe?"

Callen nodded. "I'll cover you."

He made sure to fire in the direction of each of the three enemies, even the one moaning and bleeding profusely from the leg, just to make sure they weren't in position to shoot his partner as the big man sprinted for the large SUV that was smashed into the rear-end of an older model minivan. The conglomeration of twisted metal should provide a good amount of cover. Once Sam was in position and gave him the signal, Callen likewise sprinted for the new barricade. He crouched down next to his partner, his back to the hot metal. At least, the civilians had seemed to make it out of the line of fire. And no one seemed to have been seriously injured, for they all ran for the hills. Were those sirens getting louder or quieter? Back-up seemed forever away.

"So, what was the second reason?" Callen asked, still catching his breath. A loud ping a foot above his head and to the left, informed that a bullet had made it pretty near on target. He dropped down onto his stomach while Sam covered his exposed back, and peered under the vehicle. Taking aim, he shot an approaching villain in the ankle. The man collapsed. Callen shot him in the head, and then resumed his sitting position beside his partner.

"The second reason is..." Sam resumed their conversation as if they were having a discussion over coffee and had paused while Callen went to the fridge for some creamer before sitting back down at the table. "…that it will be a slow death. It will be years before she finally finishes you off, crushes your spirit. And I figure a zombie would make just as good a partner."

"Really?" Callen feigned severe hurt. "All the compliments I give you, how I talk you up to everyone else, how great my partner is, how selfless, noble and badass... and all I get is 'a zombie would do as well as you.'?"

Sam Hanna laughed heartily at this, and Callen joined him, as they heard the shouts of state police officers ordering the remaining gunman to surrender. Back up had arrived. But G Callen was still a dead man. Because on the other side of Los Angeles, Nell Jones was in a hospital giving birth to his baby girl. And he wasn't there.

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**A/N: Oh, baby, is Callen in some trouble now! He better get his ass to Nell's side and quick…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Sorry it took so long for the update. I just got in the zone with **_**Terrors of the Night **_**and had to finish it up. Shouldn't be so long between updates for this one now… (but who knows what will come up?)**

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It took a lot to put Nell Jones in a bad mood. And right now, she was crankier than a grizzly drug from its cave in a January blizzard, to borrow a simile off from her dad. She batted away the hands on her arms in a peevish manner worthy of said hypothetical rudely-awakened grizzly bear.

Pacing about the room, she glared at its other occupants. There weren't as many clogging up the small sterile space since the doctor shooed what seemed to be half of NCIS' LA office out of the room, which Nell was both relieved and angered about.

Honestly, she didn't _want_ to be like this, but the only person in the entire history of universe that she wanted with her that very moment was not there. And he had _promised_. He always kept his promises. Always. No matter how minor (or major). And no matter whom he made them to. And this one, this one he'd made to _her_.

_Oh, G. Where the hell are you?!_

Thoughts temporarily fled her as another contraction began and then overwhelmed her. It was a kind of pain the intensity of which she'd never even near experienced before. But she bore it, for she had no choice. And perhaps, it wouldn't be so bad... except she was fighting it. Because she had called _him_ on the way to the hospital and he'd said that they'd just pulled up to the house to interview some guy whose name she couldn't remember and didn't care to know, and that they were about twenty minutes away and would head to the hospital right then. That was a little over two hours ago and this labor was proving to be a fast one, according to the doctor who was supporting Nell by the arm. Kensi Blye was at her other side, looking wide-eyed and fearful in a manner the intelligence analyst had never witnessed the agent to be in the field.

Yeah. Child birth was scary. And _painful_!

Nell was doubled up by the pain of the contraction, somehow still on her feet. It felt like a muscle cramp, like the worst kind of Charlie-horse, only the muscle tissue involved was her entire uterus, which was currently the size of a beach ball.

"Nell, your body is telling you it's time to have this baby," Dr. Vickery said. She was dark-haired, olive-skinned woman in her thirties with big, gentle, brown eyes. Nell currently both hated and thanked god for the woman's presence. "You're only going to exhaust yourself by fighting it."

Nell panted through the contraction until she felt the muscles release slightly with a brief flood of relief. She pushed the two women off from her and stalked about the room once more. If she kept this up, Dr. Vickery might just rethink her child birthing philosophy and order Nell strapped down to a birthing table. As the good doctor had discussed with her during prenatal consultations, it didn't make sense to force a woman onto her back to push a 7 pound creature through a 12 cm pelvic cavity against gravity. In most cases that presented normally, a woman's body tended to instinctively know which position it needed to be in to expel the fetus. And so, Nell had been left mobile even as active labor rapidly progressed, the doctor examining Nell's progress periodically and then banishing all of her crowd of visitors except for just one she could keep with her for support. But _he_ wasn't there. To be honest, Kensi wouldn't be her second choice. She would've preferred Sam, a man experienced with the child birth process. Or Hetty, a calming force in any storm. But they were both tied up, presumably with whatever was keeping G himself from her.

Oh, dear god! The next contraction hit her and it was all she could do not to give in to the instinct to push. Again, Dr. Vickery and Kensi were at her side, supporting her. They guided her to sit on the edge of the birthing bed, where the obstetrician proceeded to examine her while Kensi tried to calm her.

"Nell." Kensi placed her strong, slender-fingered hands on the laboring woman's face and stared straight into her eyes. The older woman had such pretty, strange eyes. They looked determined, but also, worried. "You know Callen better than any of us. You know that he's doing everything humanly possible to get here."

Nell nodded, feeling the tears welling.

"You also know he wouldn't want any harm to come to you or the baby." Kensi refused to release Nell from her intensely concerned gaze. "He would want you to be strong, to do what you have to do to ensure your daughter is born safely and healthy."

Nell nodded again. The woman was right. And if Nell had been using the little bit of her logical brain still functioning, she'd just let nature take its course, give birth and be done with it already. Callen would be there soon, and she'd be able to place their newborn daughter, pink and fresh, cleaned up (and maybe finally settled and calm having been nursed into forgetting the trauma of being born), in his arms, and bask in the affection and pride resultant from the introduction. But she wanted him there in the worst, irrational way. She wanted his hand on hers, large and warm, the callous of his trigger finger stroking the back of her thumb. She wanted his voice, soothing and encouraging her with calm words. And she wanted his eyes, steady and intense and full of affection, holding her gaze and telling her that everything was going to be alright. Oh, Kensi had nice eyes for certain, but she wanted gorgeous blue ones, _his _gorgeous blue ones. But she _was_ right, was only thinking of Nell and her imminent baby.

"Okay?" Kensi asked, giving her an encouraging smile.

"Okay," Nell said, feeling a little petulant.

"Your little girl is in position and ready to make her entrance into the world," Dr. Vickery said, her voice a professional, soothing tone. "When the next contraction hits I want you to push, okay, Nell?"

Nell nodded as Kensi took her hand and the two women, along with attending nurse helped her into a squatting position.

"Good?" Dr. Vickery asked.

"Yesss..." Nell's answer turned into a hiss as another contraction hit her. This time she did not fight it as the doctor coached her to bear down and push, feeling the child shift and move inside of her beyond the flood of pain.

"You're doing great," Kensi added to the praise and encouragement of the doctor as Nell recovered her breathing, waiting for the next contraction. A loud shout made all three of the women jump and look towards the closed door and the corridor beyond. A loud clatter and a light curse had indicated the nurse tending to the tray of medical instruments had been equally surprised. The pleasant looking middle-aged woman (who appeared like she didn't even know the kind of curse word that had passed her lips) bent to retrieve the tool she'd dropped. Nell didn't want to know what sort of instrument it was and hoped it wouldn't be needed, not that she didn't trust the obviously competent nurse to re-sterili-

The door burst open, startling all but Nell, who only sighed in great relief as the intruder strode purposely towards them and switched off places with Kensi, taking Nell's hand in his strong, warm fingers.

"You made it," she said, looking into blue, _blue_ eyes.

"Of course," G Callen said. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was-"

Nell could feel another contraction coming on, but it didn't stop her from leaning in to press her lips to his and silence his excuses. He kissed her back, a short sweet embrace, and then the contraction was on her full force and the doctor was telling her to push again... And her entire world changed forever.

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**A/N: Short, I know, but I'd intended this update to be completed and posted a while ago. Plus, there was really no reason to get into gruesome child-birthing details. (Sort of can't believe that I'm one of _those _fanfiction writers... making characters have lots of sex and babies... but there's no denying this series of fics' existence.)  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Short and sap- sap-sappy!**

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Callen watched as Nell signed their daughter's birth certificate. It was just a piece of paper. Just a piece of paper that society recognized as the acknowledgement of a new member, a new person. Just a piece of paper that gave the new person a name, an identity, and ties... ties recognized by their peers, tangible ties, ties that announced to the world who loved them. Her mother's name. But not her father's. Never her father's...

He looked down into the presently placid features of his baby girl's sleeping face as he held her bundled in his arms. Would she understand? Would she ever know how much it hurt him, how the necessary act of public rejection (god, that word... it made him sick to his stomach) pained him?

...

_Four weeks ago..._

"So..." Nell said, shifting awkwardly until he placed hands on her waist and arm to steady her, and she finally settled so that she was facing him on the sofa (one of many of her items that had been moved to fill his empty house). "I was thinking..."

He stared intently at her, but she looked down, playing with her out-turned belly button that poked through a t-shirt that was taxed to cover her round middle. Knowing she would get to the point in her own good time, he didn't press her.

"Amelia Henrietta Callen."

_Amelia Henrietta Callen. _The name echoed through his head, and he tried to wrap his brain around the feel of it, before trying it on his lips.

"We could call her 'Amy'," Nell said, her tone a study in off-handed-ness. The fact that she still hadn't met his eyes was more than enough to inform him of how nervous she was about sharing the name she'd chosen for their daughter.

_Amy... _He liked it. And the thoughtfulness of the young woman wanting to honor his sister... _Amy Callen_.

But there was a problem. He'd been thinking about their daughter's name, too. Hadn't known how to broach the subject with the mother of his unborn child, how to tell her what needed to be said without _hurting _her.

"I love it, Nell," he said, placing a hand under her chin and gently raising her face so that her big hazel eyes met his gaze. "But it can't be 'Callen.' It has to be 'Jones.'"

She gave him a confused look, partially hurt in the way he'd hoped could've been avoided. He couldn't stand to see her sad, but he had to get it out in the open, could no longer ignore it. So he looked away as he spoke.

"We can't risk it," he said. "My name is a curse, Nell. It's bad enough that I'm being selfish, having you both live here with me. The house isn't in my real name though. And I'm always careful that no one follows me back here. But..." He swallowed back the knot in his throat as he thought of the little girl currently growing inside of Nell Jones, of the woman she might grow into, of what it felt like to have no clear identity. But she _would_ have that. He would be sure she had her parents, knew who she was, even if the rest of the world couldn't know, even if... "...she can't have my name. It's too dangerous. There are people who would..."

He couldn't finish that thought. Not even born yet, and he was dreading any harm that could come to his daughter.

"Come here," Nell Jones pulled him into a kiss, halfway between chaste and sultry, her hands gently pushing against his chest, her body leaning into him, indicating her intention for him to shift position and lay back on the couch. He readily complied. She broke off the embrace, pulling back so she was sitting, straddling his hips. Her nimble little fingers began to unbutton his shirt. They were cold, as they sometimes tended to be, and sent little chills through him as they opened his shirt and ran over his bare skin. And then she was tugging the hem of her strained t-shirt up to reveal the gorgeous, round, very pregnant belly beneath -complete with its adorable popped outward belly button. She leaned forward slowly, until her naked skin was pressed against his, the weight of her swollen womb settling on his stomach. Her forearms rested on his chest, supporting the rest of her weight, so that their unborn child was cradled, enveloped between their bodies but not crushed.

The baby was active, and he could feel it kick through the walls of Nell's womb, the small strikes thumping against his own stomach. He closed his eyes and held his breath, and could almost feel the beating of the small heart. This was probably as close as he could ever get to feeling what Nell felt, what it was like to carry a developing life inside her body.

"Do you feel her?" Nell asked quietly. He opened his eyes and looked into those big, beautiful hazel ones. (God, he hoped their little girl had those eyes.)

"Yes," he said. "She's a feisty little thing, isn't she?"

"And she's yours," Nell said. "Whether she has your name or not, she'll always be yours."

...

_Mine_, Callen thought, looking down into the cherubic, fat cheeked face. _You know that, little Amelia? You're mine._

The infant yawned, her mouth turning into a small 'o', her body squirming slightly in his arms. And then she opened big, round baby blue eyes and stared up at him. Her eyes might not stay that color, but the look would forever be his, the look of a daughter laying eyes upon her father in the first few days of her life.

It did not matter what was written on some piece of paper. The two of them. They knew the Truth.

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**A/N: More mushy-ness and drama to come…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Probably not worth the wait, I know...**

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Nell came to full wakefulness in an instant, the confusion of snapping from dream state to reality quickly dissipating as she soon realized what had roused her. There was a static buzz coming from the glowing green eye on the nightstand. And beneath the low hum of interference being broadcast from the small speaker were the first indications of a fussing baby. It'd been 15 days since she'd given birth, but Nell was so attuned to the infant that the little girl might as well have still been inside of her, a part of her. The new mother, however, simply lay still, her eyes closed, making no move to rush to the call of her offspring. The need to do so was a knot in her chest, but she fought it. She needed to fight it, or else things would truly get out of control. So she just lay there as Amelia began to fuss in earnest. Soon she would be up to an audible cry and then a wail. Used to be Nell would sleep through such noise. She'd always been the type that when she was awake, she was _awake_. And when she was asleep, she was _asleep_. But she'd become quite the light sleeper over the past couple of weeks.

As for G Callen, he'd always been the lightest of light sleepers (except, Nell had discovered, for a half hour or so right after sexual release). The man stirred beside her, climbing out of bed before Amelia had even worked up to her first official 'cry'. There was a rush of cold air as he vacated the bed and then she heard the quiet padding of his bare feet on the wood floor.

Nell lay still, staring into the dark, straining her ears to listen to the sounds the baby monitor transmitted to her from the room just down the hall, trying to convince herself to go back to sleep but failing. She had to let go of the control freak in her. They'd made a deal. She loved him and she would keep to it. They'd decided that Nell would take six months off to take care of Amelia during the day. If work didn't absolutely demand his presence, the three of them had evenings together, and nights were G's alone time with Amelia. And so instead of setting her up in their own bedroom (something Nell had been regretting not doing), they put the newborn in the nursery, so Nell could sleep while Callen cared for their daughter. But it was hard on Nell to let go, to let him do the late night diaper changes and feedings. You'd think being on call for breastfeeding 24/7 for the first week and then afterward for 14-plus hours a day with the infant would be enough, but her fingers itched to brush over the smooth skin of her chubby cheek, to feel the tiny fingers wrap about one of her larger digits. Or to feel the delicate hand, warm and active, curling and uncurling against her breast as the small mouth worked at her nipple. The soft cooing and humming sounds as the newborn sucked eagerly, filling her little tummy until it was visibly fatter. Her cat-like yawns. Her big, baby blue eyes. Running her hand over the thick yet so _very_ soft dark hair that sat like a mop on the top of the little round head. Nell already had all kinds of plans for that hair. She as an infant herself had been so fair and hadn't had grown her red curls until she was nearly two.

Sounds not amplified and transmitted via radio frequency drew her gaze to the open doorway as G walked nearly silently past, the only noticeable noise his low, soothing tones and Amelia's louder fussing cries as he carried the infant by their bedroom and into the kitchen to retrieve and prepare a bottle. Luckily, the infant seemed perfectly contented to be nursed by breast or bottle. And it was a routine she'd already seemed to have adapted to, having Nell during the day, and a bottle with her father by night. Well, it would still be a while yet before the newborn could identify the difference between day and night, but maybe the routine would help. Routine was good. Almost as good as organization. Nell could picture the perfectly aligned row of breast milk she'd put up on the second shelf of the obsessively organized fridge. Did he know to use the leftmost bottle because it was the oldest? Maybe she should... No! He knew. She'd told him, probably a dozen times, how she'd arranged the contents of the fridge. And the nursery. And their closet (Well, she _hadn't _exactly told him, just took the initiative in arranging his button-down shirts by hue and shade so that the ones that best brought out the blue of his eyes were central, and he was more likely to pick one when he just grabbed a shirt out of the closet). But even had he not noticed his sorted wardrobe, he must be aware of how she'd organized the contents of the medicine cabinet alphabetically. God, how could he stand her?!

_Just leave him be, Nell. Go back to sleep._

She tried. She really did. But she found herself listening to the baby monitor once more as the new father settled into the rocking chair with his daughter, whispering soft things to the infant as he gave her the bottle. Nell hadn't realized until the previous night that it wasn't just gibberish he was saying to the baby, finally picking up a clear phrase or two in the dulcet tones he used with the child. He was speaking to her in Russian. And it hurt Nell's heart a little to know that the likely reason he soothed their daughter in the foreign tongue was probably that the only words of affection or comfort he'd ever heard as a child were in Russian. And it'd been such a short period of time that he'd been in any situation to hear the language during his childhood. He'd received so little kindness in his life that it seemed a downright miracle he'd turned out to be such a _good_ man.

And why couldn't she just let him do this for her, for Amelia? Not only did he want to take the night baby care shift, but it made sense. He'd argued that he was more than accustomed to fragmented sleeping, catching if he were lucky a couple hours here and there, and Nell wasn't. He didn't want her to burn out, especially not when there was such an easy solution. But unfortunately, her stupid obsessive, anxiety-prone brain just wouldn't cooperate.

_Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go. To. Sleep._

She was still quite awake when she heard the soft thumps of footsteps marking his return. However, the rush of cold air and then succeeding wave of heat as his body slid in beside hers did not arrive. In fact... she blinked her eyes open. And even before they'd adjusted to the dark, she felt his presence standing over her.

"You're awake," he said softly.

"Yes." A sudden wave of panic hit her before she could realize its utter ridiculousness, and rein it in. "Is there something wrong? Is Amelia okay?"

"Amelia's fine." He crouched down, bringing his face close to hers as he reached for the bedside lamp. Nell shut her eyes hastily as the soft light cut through the dark, and then opened them slowly, allowing her pupils to adjust. G was staring at her with a concerned expression wrinkling his brow. "But you're not."

Her lips twitched as she immediately thought about denying his assertion, but what was the point in lying to him? Except for sparing him some worry... some worry he'd apparently already developed. He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, the sort of tender and completely honest expression of emotion that was rare on the man (except for when the two of them were alone with one another... or anytime he held his little girl in his arms).

"You haven't been sleeping, Nell, have you?"

She shook her head, feeling exposed in a way she hadn't for a long while, not with G Callen, whom she shared every aspect of her life, every thought and feeling she had. Being certain of a person's love, of its unconditional and encompassing nature, lent a person a sort of confidence in their identity, their nature, even their quirks and failings. But this, this she felt ashamed of... because she'd promised... because she didn't want to be this way... because she feared it might hurt him, that he might think it was because she didn't trust him. But she did. She _did_!

"I can't help it," she said, hearing the strain in her own voice, feeling the tightness of frustration and despair in her vocal chords.

"I know," he said. "It's alright. It's going to be alright."

He leaned in and she pushed herself up to be encompassed by his arms, warm and soothing. The aroma that engulfed her was composed of new baby mingled with the more familiar scent of his skin, and she inhaled deeply to savor the smell of _home_. His lips were soft against her cheek.

"I want to help." His voice was low but tense with emotion, which caused Nell's eyes to tear up. "How can I help?"

"I don't kn-know." Damn. She had tried to keep the tension from her voice, but the knot in her throat had won out.

"Is it the OCD?" he asked, pulling back to study her face. She was sure she looked awful, with dark circles under her eyes. "Anxiety?"

"Both." She had to look away. It was sort of ironic, the fact that she couldn't control being a control freak. And it was something she'd always been ashamed of, not being able to control her borderline mental disorders. And not being able to let go of the need to have control over every aspect of Amelia's care was giving her quite bad anxiety. Because she _loved _G and she... oh to hell with it. How else was he to know her anxiety wasn't a criticism of him if she didn't tell him?

"I trust you," she said. "I really do. With my life. With Amelia's. But I just can't..." Oh, and here came the hot tears of frustration burning her cheeks. "I can't seem to let go."

"Would you take medication, if it could help?" he asked without any sign of judgment or accusation, without a glimpse into his opinion beyond the fact that he wanted her to feel better.

She felt herself shaking her head vehemently, trying to marshal the sobs attempting to claw their way out of her throat. It was stupid of her, she knew, because chemical imbalances, mental disorders, sometimes could only be overcome with medications. And yet, she couldn't stand the thought of using something that might change her personality, her perception and experience of the world, even if it only improved her quality of life. There must be another way for her to get through this. She_ was _fighting her exacerbated Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, and she wouldn't stop doing so, but eventually she might just become too exhausted to keep up the battle.

"I-I don't want to take anything..."

"You don't have to, Nell. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do." His hands were cupping her face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears on her cheeks. He smiled reassuringly at her, before he leaned in and rested his forehead against hers. They stayed like that for several minutes, and the calm his presence undeniably gave her gradually settled upon her in the silence and touch of his hands on her face.

"Do you think we could convince your subconscious that it is in control, even when I'm up with Amelia and you're not?"

Nell felt her brow furrow.

"What are you thinking?"

He drew back from her slightly, his dark blue eyes studying her intently, a look of concentration on his attractive face.

"What if we make the control freak in you believe it's still in charge? We're learning how to be Amelia's parents together, a little at a time. And that's great. But maybe your brain needs to think its completely in control."

Nell felt her lips quirk and brow furrow in a skeptical expression, but her curiosity was aroused.

"Continue..." she said.

"Since you just lie here wide awake anyway, I think you should take over the next few feedings. I'll come with you. You show me precisely how to do it. And then the next few times, I'll do the work but you instruct me. Then you can just supervise, and eventually maybe your brain will just let my 'properly trained' self take over.

"What do you think?" He was looking at her with an eager expression.

"It might work," she said, not entirely convinced. She felt the frustration of the utterly exhausted, that no relief would ever come, that she was a hopeless case. But G Callen obviously didn't think she was a lost cause, so... "It's definitely worth a try."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, and found herself pulled into a tight hug.

"We'll figure this out, Nell," he said. "I promise."

Nell felt some of the weary tension leave her. G Callen _always_ kept his promises.

"I love you."

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**A/N: This chapter is a result of my belief that 'happily ever after' is rarely 'happily ever after.' Every day of our lives is a stuggle, in wonderful ways and in trying ones. Otherwise, what is the point of life?**

**A/N 2: If you're looking for the inevitable smut in this piece, never fear... it's on its way. Along with more banal drama, sickeningly sweet fluff and delicious angst. (Maybe some humor in a few chapters...)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I got back earlier than I thought I would this weekend. And guess what I did instead of unpack? ;-)**

**And here's the smut… Also, some angst.**

**Now Rated 'M'**

**WARNING: CONTAINS MATURE SUBJECT MATTER  
**

* * *

The nightmares had only gotten worse. He had thought, had _hoped_ that they would stop, or at the least, fade, lose their edge. But like bad portents in Greek epics, they'd only intensified, making him feel like a tragic hero who would never know peace, whose fate was to walk a terrible path. The more joy he allowed himself to experience during the day, the more intense the nightmares that plagued him by night. And the worst part was that he was haunted by _the nightmare_, the one that was no mere frightening dream, but a twisted memory. It was a horror that cut into his heart and soul and left him hurting, shaken and terrified in a way he'd never been in all of his waking hours. Because G Callen had something to lose now.

In all the years he'd known Sam Hanna, he'd finally, truly understood the man's motives, his worst fears. Callen had seen them before, had been sympathetic to his partner's concerns, for the family the big man loved. But he hadn't known what it was like until Callen himself had the woman he loved living in his home, a small, fragile daughter whom had stolen the entirety of his reason for being. The world had always been a cold, cruel place to G Callen, but now not only did it suddenly hold a warmth he'd never expected to encounter, but also possessed terrors beyond anything he'd ever faced. The thought of Nell or Amelia coming to harm sat at the back of his mind always. But that alone would not plague him to such a severe extent. He could accept the worry as a simple part of his new responsibilities, a small price to pay for the love that now sustained him.

The nightmares, however, were a torture he could do without. This time, he'd woken covered in a cold sweat, barely stifling a shout that would've undoubtedly woken Nell and the 5 week old baby girl sleeping down the hall. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. But rather than getting up and sneaking quietly from the bedroom so as not to disturb the (thankfully) soundly sleeping Nell, he only sat there, putting his face in his hands. The terror of the nightmare was more than just a lingering fear. It was an anxiety tight in his lungs, making every breath a laborious task.

_What the hell was he going to do?_

Callen felt the bed shift and sighed, simultaneously remorseful and grateful. She was awake. And he felt guilty that he was glad she wasn't getting her well-earned rest. Her anxiety had finally seemed to calm, and he only had to ask her for permission to tend to Amelia when they both woke in anticipation of their daughter's call, and she would mumble something, roll over and return to dreamland. Playing submissive to Nell in the infant's care was a small price to pay for her peace of mind. He had absolutely loathed seeing her under such strain, the dark circles under her eyes, the dull edge her energetic personality had acquired. Once or twice, he had even questioned whether Amelia was worth watching Nell's deterioration, blamed himself for getting her pregnant and transforming her life into such a hardship. But then he only had to look at the sweet, innocent face of their baby girl, see the happiness that radiated off from Nell as she nursed her daughter. It was all worth it.

Besides, she was recovering much better now. And would continue to do so, if he could stop inadvertently waking her when his nightmares came. If he could just find a way- His skin tingled along his lower ribs, as cold fingers traced a line around his sides and up over his chest. Warm, firm breasts pressed into his back as Nell wrapped her arms about him and leaned in, placing a kiss on the nape of his neck before her sharp little chin settled on his shoulder.

"Nightmares?" Her voice was soft and gentle, concerned but not demanding. _What had he ever done to deserve her?_

"Yeah," he said. Her lips were soft as they continued to kiss the skin of his neck and shoulder in light, fleeting touches... too fleeting. Despite the heat of her body against his back, her small, delicate hands, cool and comforting, pressed flat against his chest, her presence felt ethereal to his unsettled state of mind. He wanted to know she was there, real and solid, to be reassured that this was not just a happy dream and the nightmare the reality.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked.

No. He didn't. He only wanted to rid himself of the awful feeling twisting his insides into a knot, not explore and relive the details of the... well, he supposed it was a _trauma_.

"Not yet," he said, turning to face her, breaking her hold on him to gather her up in his own embrace. The warm weight of her in his arms released some of the tension of the knot in his chest, but did not untangle it entirely. The anxiety hadn't waned as much as transformed into a desperate ache. He needed Nell, to feel the reality and vibrancy of her. So he caressed her cheek, letting his hand slide down over her throat to feel the beating of her heart in the carotid artery just under the pale, vulnerable skin. Her pulse thumped beneath his palm, strong and steady, and soothing. But it still wasn't enough. The suffering part of his soul remained unappeased and clung to the pain and anxiety his nightmare had pulled from the depths of his subconscious. Only Nell would be able to pacify the ugly fear that had sunk its claws into his heart. Only the embrace that she alone in the world could bestow would comfort him now.

"I need you," he said, pulling her tighter to him, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. The scent of her was absolutely intoxicating to him now that he'd become accustomed to the new aspects of her aroma. In addition to the subtly sweet smell of sugar cookies that seemed to perpetually linger about her was her new mother scent, composed of that indescribable perfume of 'new baby' along with the tang of spit up and slightly soured breast milk.

She hugged him tight to her, speaking in soothing tones that were familiar, in that he heard them daily being used to ease an upset infant. Yet, she was not treating him like a child, with mindless placations, for he knew it was her response to finding someone she loved in pain, her attempt to ease that suffering when she could offer no physical appeasement.

"You have me," she said. "Always."

He knew it was true, even though he often found it hard to believe that Nell Jones was his, that she loved him, perhaps even as much as he loved her. But even the happy thought that he was no longer alone in the world was not enough to assuage his pain. He felt the need for her continue to rise in him, the need to know physically the words she whispered into his ear. But he didn't know how to tell her, how to ask her. He, who never before had been timid in showing Nell his physical desire for her, could not find a way to request what he wanted, _needed_ from her.

"Nell, I-"

She silenced him with a kiss, her small -and thankfully now warmer- hand trailing down between their bodies and into his boxer-briefs to grasp the hardening length of him.

"It's okay," she said softly while she stroked him gently. "I know."

He kissed her greedily as they fell back onto the bed together, and he could honestly say he'd never _needed _her so badly before. She was the only thing that could drive the nightmare away. He'd tried to outrun it, literally, but he'd never escaped it. He'd tried to face it down in the dark solitude of a rented hotel room and a bottle of whiskey, but it had only slithered away into hiding to reemerge again. But Nell... she was his joy, the purest light he'd ever known. And she could banish it with her touch, with the sweet embrace of her. But-

"We agreed to wait," he said, breathless when he pulled away from her, looking down on the woman lying beneath him, her big eyes bright even in the dark of their bedroom.

"I'm healed, G," she said. "My appointment's in a few days, anyway."

Six weeks was what the doctor had recommended to wait before engaging in sexual intercourse, until Nell had her post-partum examination to be sure she was completely healed from giving birth, the minor tearing she'd sustained. It really wasn't that long to wait. Especially when they'd still been able to spend long hours kissing and cuddling, touching each other, his hands exploring the other pleasure centers of her body, her hands and mouth all over his flesh. It had been exhilarating and satisfying. But it just wasn't the same as being with her wholly, as close as he could physically get to her, _inside_ of her. It's what he needed now. But not at the expense of harming her.

"We can wait, then," he said with an inward groan. He wasn't sure he could. God, how he _needed_ her. There was a pressure in him, seeded by the anxiety of his nightmares, and it could either be transformed and released in Nell's affectionate embrace, or he'd have to go out into the night and try to banish it on his own. And he didn't want to leave her right now. He wanted _her _to be the answer, to be his comfort and relief.

"No," she said. "I know my body. I know I'm fine. And I want to do this." _For you_. She didn't say it. But she didn't have to.

_What had he ever done to deserve her? _Nothing good enough in this lifetime. He must have been a saint the last time around.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Help me out of these," she said, squirming as she lifted her gorgeous bottom and pushed the dark panties off her hip bones. He took hold of the waistband and slid the low-cut cotton bikini underwear down her legs, tossing them on the floor before he leaned in for another kiss.

She removed her tongue from his mouth, pushing him away slightly to say "condom", thankfully before they got too involved to remember the step they hadn't needed to take in quite a while. Another pregnancy was the last thing she needed from him when her womb had only been fetus-free for a little over five weeks.

"You'll tell me to stop if I'm hurting you?" he asked, his hips raised over hers, his hard, aching cock eager to plunge into the inviting warmth of her body.

"Yes," she said, sounding a bit exasperated with him, with the hesitation that was a battle for him to employ. She lifted her hips slightly, taking just the tip of him into her, the pressure and heat of her threatening to overwhelm any concern for her he had, to unleash the raging desire to take her.

He fought down the urge to penetrate her quick and rough, just as he'd fought down the anxiety of the nightmares over the past months, instead focusing on the pleasure of feeling her once again as he slowly buried himself inside of her.

Nell. Nell. _Nell. _Oh, god. _Nell._

Her breathing was heavy, but didn't sound strained with pain, as he settled his hips between her thighs. He closed his eyes and focused on the familiar, snug, almost uncomfortably snug, feel of her. Warm. Soft yet taut. Beautiful.

Callen wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, his erection hard and hot and buried to the hilt in Nell Jones, their bodies humming with potential energy and anticipatory delight.

"Do I feel different?" she finally asked in a hushed voice edged with curiosity and self-consciousness.

"Mm? I don't know..." Did she? He withdrew completely from her and took another contemplative turn at penetrating her, sliding slowly into her, pushing harder as he met the resistance of her small body's firm yet elastic flesh, until he was enveloped fully in the tight clutch of her once more. The anxiety that was an impossible knot inside his chest was not unraveling, but dissolving entirely.

"Do _you _feel different?" he asked, caressing her cheek in the palm of his hand as he stared into her eyes in the dark. Generally, he tended to prefer making love to Nell with the lights on, to see the details of her body and face. But at this moment, the quiet of the bedroom lit only with moonlight streaming through the window was perfect. He wasn't concerned with the visual details of her as much as her soothing presence, the feel of her, the warmth of her affectionate soul. And he wondered at how she'd changed, yet remained the same.

"Yes. And no," she said quietly. "I _am_ different. But I'm still _me_."

And that was precisely the truth of it. She had changed. But she was still Nell.

"You're my Nell," he said. "Always."

And then he kissed her. And made love to her until the darkness of the nightmare that had awoken him, haunted him with terrors beyond anything he'd faced before, faded away, and only the glorious bliss that was Nell Jones remained.

* * *

**A/N: Poor, abused, traumatized Callen. The guy just can't be happy…(But he's got Nell and Amelia, so he's on his way...maybe.)  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: I was trying to keep this fic alternating between Nell and Callen POV with every chapter, but sometimes content demands one or the other. Plus, I originally had this chapter later, but it turned out fitting in here.**

**Oh, right. WARNING: ALLUSIONS TO MATURE SUBJECT MATTER**

* * *

G Callen ordered a whiskey, took a sip, feeling the pleasant burn of it coating his throat as he swallowed, and then casually turned towards the young woman perched on the stool at the bar beside him.

"Excuse me, miss," he said. She turned, giving him a curious look with hazel eyes that shone almost green, like the emerald satin dress that clung to her glorious curves. "Do you know how to make a pixie moan?"

A smile tugged at the corner of her pink lips at the odd pick-up line.

"No," she said. "I don't know. How do you make a pixie moan?"

"You _tink 'er bell_."

He'd been wanting to use that line since two weeks ago when Kensi and Deeks were discussing terrible pick-up lines, and he and Sam had joined in... and then a Smartphone was involved, and it had degraded into peels of laughter that echoed around the Mission until Eric had whistled them up for a case.

The young woman laughed now, ironically a sound like merrily ringing bells. She continued to smile at him, with more than a little seduction in the curve of her lips, and in the tone of her voice when she spoke.

"Tinker Bell is a fairy. Not a pixie."

He raised an eyebrow in question, but the fact that she'd taken the time to issue the correction was only an invitation for more conversation, which was a good sign she was interested in flirting a little... and maybe a little more.

"I do believe in fairies. I do. I do." She clapped her hands lightly, apparently for good measure in illustrating her point.

He felt his lips twitch with amusement over her vehement rendition. Whatever she was drinking, it _must _be good.

"Point conceded," he said. "But I can tell that _you're_ a pixie."

"Oh really?" she was fighting a smile, and failing. Oh, she was definitely into him, leaning forward, placing a delicate hand on his arm. He didn't think she was drunk... yet. Just happy and buzzed enough to take the edge off any social anxiety. "How's that?"

"The mischievous glint in your eye."

"So that's the difference between fairies and pixies," she said, eyes sparkling at him.

"One of them, yes." Her open, smiling face just begged for more. Okay, then. He liked this whole flirting game. And he had been getting a bit rusty, could use the exercise. "I've also heard that pixies have talented tongues."

She snorted in amusement. Too much? Maybe. But the young woman appeared to be having as much fun as Callen was, so he pushed the point. Besides, she _was _gorgeous.

"Care to help me find out?" he asked, giving her his most charming smile, the one that said 'I know this is ridiculous but aren't you enjoying it as much as I am?'

"There's several ways I can think of..." he was slowly leaning in towards her, his face getting ever closer to hers, the heat of her drawing him further, until he finally pressed his lips against hers. They were soft and warm, and she did not pull away or make any sort objection, so he placed a hand on her flushed cheek, cradling her face. As he suspected, she leaned into his palm, the angle of her mouth shifting just so... He parted her lips with his tongue and reveled in the intoxicating taste of her. Quite literally _intoxicating_. She tasted like quality scotch, smooth and complex, a delicious complement to the remnants of the harsher whiskey burning in the back of his throat. A classy and unexpected drink for a woman so young.

He kissed her for a full minute, exploring her mouth with his tongue, feeling her eager response in the playful movements of her own tongue against his, in the way her hand grasped the back of his neck and her nails bit into his skin ever so slightly.

Finally, the embrace tapered to a natural break, and he turned back to the counter, to down the rest of his whiskey, willing it to wash away (or burn off) the fantasy that had stormed through his brain as he kissed the young woman with his tongue, the heat and aroma of her overwhelming his senses. It was hard to shake the conjured vision of her, lying naked on her back upon his living room floor, those large breasts of hers jiggling from the rhythm of his hips thrusting into her, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her throat a taut curve, her stiff nipples pointing toward the ceiling, her lovely round ass... oh, she'd be grateful for that fleshy bottom cushioning her spine as he pounded her into the floor like a nail-

Callen ordered another whiskey and downed half of the glass in one gulp, before he turned back to the pretty girl in the green dress who kissed like a seductress.

"What was that about?" she asked, a ginger eyebrow arched in perfect amused inquiry.

"You're irresistible in that dress." The eyebrow did not lower. The lips merely twitched. God, he should've called her Mrs. Darling instead of Tinker Bell, because damned if she didn't have a perpetually teasing Kiss hidden in the corner of that delectable mouth. He never could seem to catch it. His eyes wandered down from the taunting Kiss that winked at him from the corner of her pink mouth, and landed -okay, lingered- on the ample cleavage revealed by the plunging neckline. What somehow would seem trashy on many a woman came across as classy sex appeal. A case of a perfectly matched dress and woman. "Why haven't I seen you in this before?"

"You know Hetty doesn't lend out her formal wear willy-nilly, G," Nell Jones said, following his gaze downward, and with a sudden flare of shame, tugging at the bodice in a futile attempt to reduce the amount of alluring round, plump breast on display. He grabbed her hand to stop her useless -_and in his opinion, unnecessary_- fussing.

"I don't think she'd appreciate your ripping the stitching out of it, either," he said gently, raising her hand to his lips to kiss the back of her fingers. He glanced over her shoulder, feeling a little wave of smugness at the now vacant stool just a couple feet away. Nell caught the direction of his eyes, tugged her hand free and pinned him with one of her sterner stares.

"You were marking your territory," she said stonily.

"What?"

"That whole pretending to be picking me up and sticking your tongue in my mouth thing... You were just marking your territory."

Sometimes, Nell Jones was difficult to read. This was, unfortunately, one of those times. He wanted to believe that there was still a playful glint in her eyes that denoted amusement rather than just the mere ire her tone seemed to imply. But, she did perhaps have legitimate cause to be angry with him. He'd seen the way nearly every single man in the bar, not to mention the rest of the high-end restaurant had stared at Nell, _his _Nell. He supposed he couldn't really blame them. The dress Hetty had picked out for her seemed to be made for the young woman's quite shapely, petite body. It hugged everything it should without appearing too tight, and revealed just enough skin to tease the most erotic fantasies from onlookers... or was it just him? No, the way that Burned-Out-Lawyer Barfly Guy had been trying to hit on her at the bar was undeniable evidence that Nell was one sexy woman in more than just G Callen's eyes.

He blamed the breasts, really. There was no way for the men who ogled her to know the reason such a petite woman had such a substantial, non-artificially-enhanced rack was because she was a nursing mother. And if they did, would they have backed off even then? Not that anyone besides Burned-Out-Lawyer Barfly Guy had done anything more than stare at her. Even the half-drunk man hadn't gotten very far. And never would have. In fact, Callen had probably done him a favor, putting on the display he'd had with Nell. The show was more than the man was ever going to get, and was arousing enough as it was, which explained why the man had hastily fled the scene, likely to the bathroom to jerk off. Because, god, the noises Nell made when Callen had been kissing her. He was certain she hadn't even realized the soft moans she was making in the back of her throat, or she would've been mortified over the exhibition. Neither of them were much for public displays of affection. Which brought him back to conceding the point to Nell. He had purposely falsely hit on her in order to make public his claim on the young woman. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. He knew she only had interest in going home with one man (and how lucky was he to be that man?!). It was the rest of the world he didn't trust.

He looked down into her hazel eyes, finding her patient expectation for his excuse. But he wasn't going to try one. It was Hetty's birthday. She'd dressed them all in her finest stock of wardrobe and taken them out to a fancy restaurant. Nell's sister, who had moved to town a few months ago (supposedly because her company had offered her a great position in their LA branch, but more likely to be close to her younger sister and her new niece), had taken Amelia for the night. The last thing he wanted was to be in trouble with Nell on a Date Night. Well, sort of 'Date Night'. They'd never really had official dates, so it was a strange concept to them, he supposed. And attending Hetty's birthday party wasn't really a 'date' sort of thing to do, either, was it? Oh well. They certainly weren't normal people.

"Well?" she said, finally growing sick of his chosen response of silence.

"You're right," Callen said, leaning in so close that his lips brushed her ear. "I got a little territorial. You attracted more attention than Kensi when you walked in here. I could see it in every man's eyes how they wished you'd be in their bed tonight. And I wanted them to know that I'm the only who gets to part your thighs and-"

"G! We're in public." The alarm in her voice silenced him and he straightened, to see her hazel eyes wide, her pupils deliciously dilated, and a pink flush coloring her face and neck, and, oh yes, all the way down to her breasts. He just loved her fair complexion at times like these. It definitely made certain of her moods easier to read.

"We don't have to be." He placed a hand on the curve of her hip. "Let's get out of here."

Nell seemed temporary entranced, as enraptured as he currently felt by her proximity. And then she somehow shook it off, her eyes focusing once more, the hard set returning to her mouth, as her parted lips pressed into a thin line.

"We've barely visited with Hetty, yet," she said. "And she'll be very _disappointed_ if we break proper social protocol."

Callen sighed. The pixie had a point. But he really just wanted to get her naked... or just a little bit more naked, but definitely hot and bothered.

"Besides..." She gave him one of those mischievous grins of hers. "You promised me a dance."

"Okay. First, we'll dance-"

"A proper dance," Nell corrected. Callen narrowed his eyes at her, as if he would shirk on his promise.

"_First, we'll dance_. Then we'll chat with Hetty. And _then_ we can call it an early night."

"Deal." Nell stuck out her hand. Callen took it, but rather than shake it as if sealing a deal, he pulled it into the crook of his elbow, and helped her down off the stool with his other hand on her waist.

Shortly, he discovered that Nell had not been lying when she'd told him last week, upon announcement of this little soiree, that she could dance the salsa. By no means would she ever win any competitions. And neither would he, for that matter. But they maintained a good rhythm, had a little bit of flair, if he did say so himself, and the heat between them was enough to make their time out on the floor an exceptional experience, if only for the two of them, which was all they were doing it for anyway. After the music stopped and they vacated the floor, he collapsed with Nell in his lap (in yet another unprecedented display of closeness among the company that generally comprised their coworkers) at the table where Henrietta Lange was seated, lording (or ladying, as it were) over the entire restaurant, not with pomp but a distinguished air that garnered every single person's respect.

"Well done, Mr. Callen, Miss Jones," she said, giving them a genuinely amused smile and a clap of her hands. She leaned closer to the pair, talking in a lower tone. "Perhaps the two of you could give Miss Blye and Mr. Deeks some pointers."

Hetty took a sip of the amber liquid in her glass, closing her eyes and savoring what he knew must be extremely expensive scotch. And then a small epiphany hit him smack in the forehead. Of course. That must be where Nell had developed the taste for the alcohol. Hetty's matronly influence. The old spy swallowed and then slowly opened her eyes, bestowing a smile upon them.

"So, I see parenthood is treating you both well," she said, in that unreadable way of hers. Callen knew the old woman adored the now six month old baby that she visited on a weekly basis, but he had never been able to tell if Henrietta Lange actually approved of his and Nell's relationship. She cared about them, he knew. But they were also assets in her little (and not so little) games. And Callen effectively had removed Nell from being able to be used in a number gambits. Or so he thought, until he heard what the old woman he respected and cared for deeply said next.

"So, Miss Jones, when will you be returning to us?"

* * *

**A/N: Uh-oh. How is territorial Callen going to feel about Nell going back to work? It's not like she's a field agent, though, right…? Stay Tuned… **


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Ever wonder what happened to Callen when he was undercover all those months, while Nell suffered her lonely pregnancy? (Because we never got any definitive answers in _Synthesis_, the prequel fic for this one.)  
**

* * *

The man tossed and turned in his sleep and then woke with a start, breathing hard. But it wasn't his sudden jarring bolt into wakefulness that had called Nell Jones from her own sleep. She'd been awake for some time, debating with herself whether she should rouse G Callen from his fitful dreams, or just wait to see if they'd calm and let him get some rest. She worried about him, how he hadn't been sleeping well, even in terms of the habitual insomniac. He'd told her on numerous occasions how grateful he was for her, if only for the gift she gave him of several solid hours of sleep a night... not to mention the thousand other things he loved about her. But she certainly hadn't been giving him that. In fact, she feared -no, she _knew_- that it was her fault the nightmares had returned, her choice to go back to the OSP full time, instead of working on various projects from home that dredged up an anxiety in him.

They'd disappeared almost entirely in the last few months, after he'd finally turned to her instead of running away. Sometimes, quite literally he _ran_ away, got up and went out without a word, but taking the cell phone lying on the nightstand in case she needed to reach him. But she'd never called, and never would have unless it 'd been an absolute emergency. Because she refused to force him into a conversation that she thought might help but in reality might only push him away. The man she loved was a loner. And she'd accepted that. He was learning slowly that the sort of thoughts and feelings he'd kept solely to himself all of his life (for the simple fact that he'd had no one or maybe he was just built that way, it did not matter) could be shared with her. The woman who loved him unconditionally, who had given birth to his child, who slept in his arms at night, and whom he kissed awake in the morning. All she had been able to do was ensure he knew she was there, if he wanted her.

And eventually, he did want her, the comfort she could give him. And she gave. Anything he needed, she would give to him, to ease his pain, to calm his distress, to drive the nightmares away. At first, he'd needed her body, the release it could give him. And then he'd only needed to embrace her, kiss her, know she was there. Finally, she'd only needed to lay a hand upon him as he tossed about in bed, and he'd still, calming visibly in his sleep. And for the past three months she hadn't had to comfort him at all. The nightmares had gone... until last week. Last week, they'd come back with a vengeance. And she hadn't known how to deal with them this time. He'd taken to running away once more. But that couldn't go on forever.

"Another nightmare?" she asked, her eyes adjusting to the dark of their bedroom as she focused on his supine form, his breathing heavy but steadily calming as he recovered from the shock of waking.

"Yes."

"What can I do for you?" she asked, not disguising the desperateness in her voice. She wanted him to turn to her for comfort, rather than seek the solitude he often required. Her poor lone wolf, who had inadvertently found himself the alpha of his own small pack, and himself torn between his nature and his heart. _Please, G. Need _me_. Just me._

She didn't care whether he needed to cuddle with her or fuck her quick and hard and painfully. Either would make her happy, if only because it would mean he needed _her_ this time.

"Listen," he said in a quiet even tone. "I just need you to listen."

And then G Callen turned to her, draping an arm over her middle and snuggling up to her side. He lay his head on one of her milk-swollen breasts, and she had to admit they probably did make quite nice pillows, deciding not to protest the uncomfortable compression of the tender tissues. It was the wee hours of the morning and her breasts were beginning to feel engorged in anticipation of Amelia's morning feeding. Not to mention the little fiend had begun to cut her teeth and it was a learning process for both mother and daughter to prevent sharp little bites on sensitive flesh, and Nell's left nipple was quite sore... But, god, here she was thinking about baby issues again. Motherhood was sneaky that way. When it wasn't outright demanding her full attention, it was sneaking around, taking up all of the thoughts in the back of her mind. And right now, the man she loved needed her undivided attention, to excise the demons that had been tormenting him.

"I told you there were other women," he said quietly. "When I was undercover with the Juarez Brothers."

"Yes." Nell stroked his head. The close-cropped hair still surprised her with its softness. She'd already decided to keep her interference to a minimum, to only respond when he'd needed encouragement to continue. Because he obviously needed to get what darkness was haunting him out of his soul.

Nell wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear about the women. She didn't hold it against him. How could she? Not only had he been undercover, but he hadn't been hers then. But he was hers now. And she wasn't sure she wanted to think about his hands on other women, their hands on him. Perhaps, it wouldn't have bothered her so much had she not given birth to his child, had developed some sort of instinctual proprietary protectiveness of the man. Ugh. It always came back to the baby, didn't it? Motherhood had undeniably changed her. And Amelia was worth it. G Callen was worth it, too.

She didn't have to hear about him being with other woman, after all. At least not at first. Because, he'd resisted at first. He'd known the Juarez Brothers were partiers when he'd gone under. And had mentally prepared himself to do what was necessary to ingratiate his alias with the successful black market middlemen. His ultimate operational goal, as Nell had been aware, had been to take out the two brothers and the system they'd established. Homeland's new theory was that eliminating illegal weapons brokers such as the Juarezes would do a lot to further the global aspiration of peace. They figured that both suppliers in the trade (such as various thieves and low-lifes) _and_ buyers (such as terrorists) were a paranoid bunch, so without a trustworthy, reasonable go-between, they would a.) turn on each other without a moment's notice and kill each other off (saving Homeland some work) or b.) not be able to connect with each other in the first place. The Juarez Brothers had been identified as an excellent test for this theory, and G Callen had been approached as the perfect candidate for the job of taking down the successful black market middlemen.

And successful they certainly were, which was more than likely due to the fact that they had incredibly good instincts about who to trust. Having proven his ability to supply goods with a free sample of H&K UMP40s, Callen had been invited to enjoy their hospitality for a time, a time which had turned out to be months. Months of living in their villa in El Salvador, of proving time and again he could provide merchandise, of attending every party they threw, of laughing at their jokes, of more than blending in, of standing out, of proving himself a good friend, of pretending to enjoy the things they did.

Luis, the younger brother was toying with a rapidly growing drug addiction. But Hector did not like hard drugs, so Callen at least hadn't had to figure out a way around doing lines of coke off hookers' bare breasts. Hector preferred alcohol. And Callen could not only hold his liquor pretty well, but also knew ways of appearing like he were consuming more than he was in actuality drinking. And so he lived with the brothers, attended black market arms deals with the brothers, and partied with the brothers several times a week (never on nights before business meetings were scheduled). He at least was given his own suite in the disgustingly tacky, opulent mansion, and the household was so hung over on a regular basis, he had the mornings to himself, to go for a run about the grounds or stay holed up in his room with a ridiculous science fiction novel that seemed to be his only escape (one that Nell had recommended to him what had seemed an eternity ago as they lay in her bed, sweat cooling on their skin and sleep creeping up on them but not yet tugging at their eyes).

At least, he'd had the room to himself until he'd finally felt he could no longer get around it and taken one of the prostitutes to bed. Hector Juarez had been staring at him curiously for the past few nights they'd had called up the local village band, ordered up several cases of tequila and a dozen prostitutes. It wasn't like the Juarez Brothers were into orgies or anything. He'd only ever seen Luis take three girls to his room for the night the once, and Hector only ever took one. But they liked having them around, sitting in their lap, fetching their drinks, lighting their cigarettes. And so Callen, too, picked a girl to sit on his lap while they played cards or just got really, really drunk. Generally, he simply had to wait until they'd gone to bed, passed out, or sneak out himself when they were too drunk to notice. But then, Hector _had_ begun to notice. And so at the next party, he'd picked a nice-looking girl (at least Hector and Luis liked healthy-looking prostitutes that weren't visibly diseased, but to hell if Callen wasn't going to use a condom with one) and took her to bed.

He'd had to let himself get a little drunk that night, because he couldn't stop thinking about Nell. It was strange how much she'd begun to occupy his thoughts, how integral she'd become to his life in just the couple of weeks they'd been together, especially when it was only a sexual relationship. Gradually, he'd begun to realize it'd been more, that during those two weeks, he'd found himself often making mental notes, to share a joke he'd heard from Deeks with her, or tell her what Sam had said or done during that day. He'd always been looking forward to spending the night with her, and not just because of the fantastic sex or the solid five hours of sleep he'd get afterward, but because she might entertain him with another tale of growing up on the Canadian border, or share some obscure insight with him, or reveal a little quirk he hadn't known she possessed. It would have been the first woman since Nell, and he hadn't known how he'd handle it for how confused thinking of the young woman made him.

The alcohol had helped with that.

The next morning Callen discovered exactly why Hector had been studying him so intently when he was with the women at the parties. It had been a joke, a bet between the brothers. Hector had insisted that Callen (well Jason Lattimer, as they knew him) was abstaining from enjoying the women because one had broken his heart. He'd also argued with Luis that Callen had a type, probably similar to the mystery heart-breaker, and had set to figuring it out, narrowing it down little by little, feeling that he was close. And then the previous night, Callen had taken to bed the woman Hector had asked for specifically with his tastes in mind. Paolita. For the first time, Callen had really looked at the young woman as she vacated the messy sheets on his bed and put on her crumpled dress. She'd been petite with a fair complexion (something not all that easy to find in Salvadoran whorehouses) and big eyes. They'd stuck an auburn wig on her. The 'higher' class of hooker the brothers preferred almost always adorned wigs, and apparently Callen had inadvertently given away his preference for a realistic (rather than vibrant scarlet, which some of them did sport) pelirroja.

And at that moment, it had hit him like a punch to the gut. Nell Jones. The hooker had been a surrogate for Nell Jones. A subconsciously selected one, yes. But fuck, he'd been compromised. Exposed. He'd given away part of his real self. It was a mistake he had not made in 20 years. But it hadn't been a disastrous one. He'd simply had to go with it, spin a sad story of lament, of pining for the woman he'd had to leave behind for his work, but had reassured his friends it hadn't been serious at any rate. And it hadn't been serious. Only... it _had_. Because, oh, how he had fucking _missed_ Nell.

Nell thought about interrupting his story, about telling him it was okay. That he'd only done what he had to do, and who wouldn't have let such a small sign slip through when they'd been so confused, but everything had worked out in the end anyway. However, she knew that none of what he'd told her so far would've been enough to give the unflappable man nightmares of such epic proportions. And so she only stroked the back of his neck as a sign of her encouragement.

"I wanted to stop. I probably should have. It would've been easy enough to rationalize to Hector and Luis, that I was still heart sore from the woman I'd left behind." He sighed, his breath hot against her skin. "But I couldn't stop. Several nights a week, every time they had a party, I'd get drunk and fuck Paolita. God help me, I don't know why I didn't just stop."

He was quiet for a little while, to the point where she feared he might have changed his mind about explaining his nightmares, their source, to her. And then he apparently gathered his thoughts, and began telling the story she was certain he'd told no one before.

"That's a lie," he said. "I do know why I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. Because if I got drunk enough, I could almost believe that it was your smooth skin beneath my hands, rather than Paolita's scarred flesh. I could almost smell the subtle sweet scent of you, rather than the stench of stale booze she wore like a perfume. I could almost hear your voice and stare into your hazel eyes, and feel the almost painfully tight embrace of your body, instead of the loose hold of a whore's well-worn flesh. And if I closed my eyes and tried to believe hard enough, it was like I had never left your arms at all."

This time she couldn't help herself, felt the words squeezed out as a knot tightened in her throat.

"It's okay, G. I understand. It's okay."

His grip tightened on her, his tone sharper than the soft, detached sort of way he'd been telling the story, as if it had happened to someone else.

"It's not okay." He took a deep, slow breath. "There's more."

Nell swallowed back the anxiety in her throat, her physical reaction to her lover's emotional pain undeniable in the rapid beating of her heart and tight knot in her throat. His bare skin beneath her fingertips was a comfort as she ran them over his neck and shoulders. It took him a full minute before he began to speak again.

"One morning, I woke to find Paolita had overdosed on what was probably a tainted batch of heroin, lying in a pool of vomit and blood."

Oh, dear god. She'd suspected he'd been haunted by his time with the Juarez Brothers, but she'd thought it'd been because he'd been forced to kill a couple of men he'd befriended (well, 'pretended' to befriend, anyway). It hadn't occurred to her that it could be something of which she was a constant reminder, the loss of the woman who'd been a surrogate for his conflicted feelings about Nell.

"And for one terrifying moment, I thought it was you in bed with me, still and unbreathing. And fuck me, I was actually relieved when I realized the truth of my situation."

Nell felt the hot moisture of his tears wetting her soft cotton camisole, but she didn't know what to say, could only hold him in her arms. And he wasn't even finished reciting his terrors.

"The worst thing is that, in my nightmares, it _is _you," he said, his voice that strange artificial calm she knew he acquired when he was pushed beyond his capacity for emotion. "Your cold, lifeless body lying on top of me. And Amelia, dead inside of you, without ever having taken her first breath."

"Oh, G!" She kissed his head, forehead, temple, every part of his face she could reach, finally pulling him up to her and kissing him hard on the mouth. "You're not alone. I'm alive. Amelia's alive. We're here, with you. We're here and we love you. _Please_ just love us while we're all here together. You can't control the future." She smiled at him, feeling her heart ache and glow at the same time. "You taught me that."

His hands framed her face, strong and warm, and _trembling_. He only said one more word to her, and if it was the last thing she heard on his lips, she would die happy, because it contained every thought and emotion the man had ever had, ever would have, about her.

"Nell."

And then he made love to her in the quiet -but not lonely- dark. Not lonely. Not in their home. Not in their bed. Not with their baby girl sleeping in a room just down the hall. Not with each other. Not lonely. Never lonely. Everything but lonely.

She came with a quiet gasp, he with a low groan. And they fell asleep in each other's arms in the dark that was everything but lonely.

* * *

**A/N: So now we know what's haunting Callen, but we still don't know how they're going to deal with their issues and Nell returning to work.**


End file.
